


Whipped

by SassyEggs



Series: For the Better [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Does this still count as smut?, F/M, First Time, Fluff, More silly than smutty, More syrupy than smutty, Sassy's definition of smut, Smut, You asked for it!, You've been warned, hella awkward, literal fluff, smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to 'For the Better'</p><p>Sansa and Sandor and a food science experiment.  *wink*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaspberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaspberry/gifts), [LittleBirdAddicted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBirdAddicted/gifts).



> OK, so, I managed to pick up a few of your subtle hints that maybe you would appreciate a follow-up to For the Better. And by ‘follow-up’ I mean… aw hell, you know what I mean. And I had zero interest in doing it, even though you’ve all been very sweet and encouraging. But I had nothing- no ideas, no desire, no inspiration… until LittleBirdAddicted went and named it for me. And then… well, then I HAD to write it, because how awesome is that title, huh? So thank you LBA for the inspiration! You’re a bad influence on this G-rated writer!
> 
> However- the primary reason I didn’t want to do this was because of my firm belief that sex under these circumstances would be awful. They’re exhausted, she’s an inexperienced virgin, he’s well-hung (we assume, don’t look at me like that, you assumed it too), they have to use a condom, etc. So I did my VERY BEST to make it as satisfying as possible without overlooking my original concerns. The result is a whole lot of awkwardness. You’ve been warned. And yes, I do think Sansa would be this nervous. If all she’s ever done is make out with Joffrey, then skipping to the happy ending is one heck of a gigantic step. 
> 
> Also- it’s LittleRaspeberry’s birthday! Happy Birthday LR! Hey, I have an idea, how about we celebrate by hopping on a plane and doing that Wales/Paris/Sweden trip we’ve been talking about?
> 
> Thanks to everyone who bothers to read and for all the gentle nudges to do this in the first place! This is the longest single thing I’ve written and it seems a bit… wordy. I mean, that’s an awful lot of words. So I hope it’s not a raging disappointment.

“Ahhhh…… that’s warm,” she sighed when the cold of the whipped cream was replaced with the heat of his mouth, then giggled when he poked his tongue into her belly button.

He had moved her dress just enough to expose her stomach, but as he continued laying tender kisses against her, his hands had moved to her sides, drawing the fabric up her ribs and under her breasts. She knew where he was going with this and didn’t mind, wanted it maybe even as much as he did, so when his hands went even higher, drifting under her dress to cup and squeeze her breasts, she was glad of it.

Especially since it meant he returned to her mouth. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue pressed firmly against hers tasting like the whipped cream he’d eaten off of her, and she matched his kiss with the same intensity. They hadn’t kissed enough, she decided, and held his head to her, even as he was pushing her dress up higher to fully expose her breasts and squeezing her flesh a little harder than before. When he sat up again to look at her she was disappointed but didn’t protest, allowed him to look all he wanted, let his fingers lightly trace her every curve. And it was a little nerve-wracking, a little uncomfortable, though not entirely unpleasant.

But the more she lay there with her dress hiked up high over her breasts, the more she wished he would just undress her. Seriously, couldn’t he tell she felt silly when she was nearly naked except for her overdressed neck? He must have, because he finally helped her into a seated position and pulled the dress up and off her body, throwing it to the side as she fell back onto the bed.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she muttered inanely, but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was on his knees between her legs, resting on his heels while he explored her body, eyes and hands sweeping over her belly and breasts and hips and legs… It was intimidating enough being in that position, but when he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her closer she had to rethink her definition of ‘intimidating.’

It was… not what she expected. She'd always thought when she finally had sex it would be because she simply couldn't help herself, she'd be completely caught up in passion and want and urgent desire. And while this wasn't as bad as the inelegant groping she'd occasionally tolerated from Joffrey, she still never thought it would be this intense examination under smoldering eyes.  

She also never thought the lights would be on.

It made her nervous- _too_ nervous. She didn’t want to be terrified of doing this, she wanted to want it, and instead she was just lying there, wishing he’d stop staring. Her heart was galloping out of control, her breath coming in so short she could see the desperate heaving of her chest and tried unsuccessfully to rein it all in before he noticed. But he _did_ notice, of course, and narrowed worried eyes at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she hissed, a little too quickly. “I just… can we maybe… turn the lights off?”

He grimaced and recoiled slightly, tilting his head in an obvious attempt to hide his scars. She knew what he was thinking, and for a second she felt for him, wished he wasn’t always consumed with thoughts of his own flaws; but mostly she just wished he would knock it off.

“I can’t deal with your insecurities right now, Sandor, I have enough of my own,” she muttered, crossing her arms against her chest and looking away, trying to hide herself from him. Never had she felt so foolish than this very moment, when her inexperience and immaturity reared its ugly head. She was being ridiculous, she knew that- if things were going where she thought they were going then surely she should be able to handle him looking at her. But she couldn’t, didn’t even want to, and when he climbed off the bed and headed towards the light switch she sighed in relief.

He left the hall light on, which she didn't mind too much, and even though she was still too shy to look at him while mostly-naked on his bed, she was very aware that he took his shirt off. And then he was climbing back towards her, straddling her hips this time, and she cautiously looked up at him in confusion because… what the heck was he hoping to accomplish from _this_ position?

Without any warning he abruptly grabbed her arms, pinned them over her head, and assaulted her with the forgotten can of whipped cream despite her shrieking, giggling protests.

“Stop wiggling, you’ll mess me up,” he growled at her, concentrating on his task. In agonizing slowness he moved the nozzle around one nipple, the whoosh of the can doing little to hide her squeals as he worked his way outward and creating a perfect mound of confection. After he’d repeated the process on the other side he released her arms, dropped the can to his side, and attacked her anew.

"The whipped cream was for me, you know," she murmured as he diligently licked the dessert off her breast.

"This isn't what you had in mind?" he grumbled without stopping, sucking up the last of it and nibbling lightly at the nipple underneath.

Whoa. She hadn’t expected it to feel so good, his mouth warming her cooled skin while his tongue stroked her, drawing out little gasps whether she willed it or not. She was powerless to do anything other than let him do as he pleased, so she ran her fingers into his hair, grasping at his head to hold him at her breast.

"But… you... you don't even like whipped cream," she complained breathlessly as he abandoned one breast and dove into the mound of sugary fluff covering the other.

"I like it _this_ way."

He was little more than a distant mumble at that point, both of them too distracted for true conversation. She was really only talking to steel her nerves anyway, to distract herself from the way her blood was coursing so rapidly through her body it almost hurt.

“Your mouth is enormous,” she gasped, and he pressed her nipple between his teeth, for punishment or pleasure she didn’t know, didn’t care, because she liked it anyway. She whimpered when he flicked his tongue against her sensitive skin, still clenched between his teeth, then soothed the pain with his lips before abandoning her breast completely.

"Did you want some?" He was hovering above her, eyes sparkling even in shadow, and she was unsure of what he meant but nodded her head anyway. "Open up, little bird."

It took a moment to get his meaning, but when he brought the can to her face she dutifully opened her mouth. He squirted some right on her tongue, just a taste, and she smiled timidly as she swallowed it down. It was incredibly uncouth, she thought, but considering the depraved things he was doing with the whipped cream putting it directly in her mouth didn't really seem like the worst of it.

When she opened her mouth for more he gladly gave her another shot, then followed that sweetness with that of his tongue, kissing her soundly. They hadn’t done enough kissing, she decided, and put both hands on his face to hold him there.

He apparently disagreed, breaking the kiss and turning his attention back to her body, using the whipped cream to place little dollops in a trail from her neck, down between her breasts, over her belly, stopping only when he reached the black lace of her panties. All she could do was titter nervously and squeal at the sensations, completely exposed to his eyes and his hands and his tongue. But… it wasn’t so bad, not in the way he covered her breasts with his hands and kissed her lips, and got even better when he began following that trail, sipping his way down her body.

By the time his face had drifted below her breasts his hands had followed suit, slipping fingers into either side of her panties to ease them down her legs, the garment descending even faster than his lips were as he kissed her belly, her hip bones, her thighs, her…

_“No.”_

She’d pushed up on her elbows, looked down at him to see his surprised expression which surely mirrored her own, and pulled her panties back up.

“Please… Sandor, I’m not ready… for… _that.”_

He gave a helpless sigh and looked off down the hallway as if he didn’t really know what to make of this new information. And again she wished she could be what he wanted instead of acting like… well, like a virgin. She had a completely absurd urge to apologize for being so inexperienced, but before she could say anything he descended on her, licking her from belly to chin then swallowing her giggles with his mouth as he rolled them both over.

Their positions were reversed, now- she was straddling his hips and he lay below her, one hand behind his head and the other on her thigh, eyes on hers and oddly reassuring. He’d relinquished the power to her, she realized, letting her choose what to do and when. And it was sweet, really, but… she had no idea what to do! If there was something she was _supposed_ to do, some magic formula for making men happy, she had never learned it.

So she did what he had done- looked at him, touched him, bent towards him to kiss him lightly on his neck, his collar bones, his chest, even the tattoo of three dogs running across his chest. There was so much hair, everywhere, and underneath she could make out the faint traces of several small scars. She let her fingers wander over him, stroked his enormous shoulder, his strong chest and flat belly. Good lord, he was big; really, impossibly broad. It’d probably take the rest of that can of whipped cream just to cover his chest, and the thought of it made her grab for the can, smiling wickedly at him just to let him know he was really in for it now.

Except she found herself once again puzzling out what to do. Was she supposed to cover each of his nipples in the same way he had done to her? Was that something men liked? She never would have thought so, and assumed he wouldn’t really appreciate having whipped cream breasts, either, so instead she just had to improvise, doing whatever came to mind.  

“What the fuck are you doing?” he grumbled, eyes bright with amusement though he pretended to be annoyed.

“Drawing an S. For Sandor. Or an S for Sansa. Or an S for Superman.” She hummed softly to herself as she quickly drew a giant diamond shape around the S, making him look like the strangest, hairiest, least-colorful Superman ever. “There. Now all you need is a cape.”

“This is not what I was imagining when you pulled out that can of whipped cream.”

“Well I didn’t get it for you, pervert.”

She giggled happily at her joke, but the giggle soon turned to a shriek when he grabbed her and pressed her to his chest, thoroughly squishing the whipped cream between their bodies.

“Oh my god, you _jerk!”_ she cried as she pushed up off him and looked down at her fluff-covered breasts. But she wasn’t _really_ complaining and he knew it.

“I thought I’d graduated from ‘jerk’ to ‘asshole,’” he teased her.

“Oh, right, I forgot,” she pouted, using her finger to draw a sweeping design into the creamy disaster on his chest. “A for asshole.”

“Nice.”

When she licked the whipped cream off her finger his eyes widened subtly, then narrowed again- he wanted her, she knew it, could tell by his darkened eyes and his twitching mouth and the way his hands had still not stopped wandering. She may be completely clueless when it came to this kind of stuff, but he still wanted her, and this new realization calmed her nerves. A little.

“I feel ridiculous,” she complained half-heartedly, adding more whipped cream to his chest then smoothing it out to create a blank slate. “Whose idea was this?”

“Yours,” he growled, sticky hands sliding around her body much as his eyes were. He seemed unable to stop touching her, unable to stop looking at her, and she used his distraction to entertain herself in other ways.

“What the fuck are you doing _now?”_ he snarled.

“I’m drawing you in a bikini top,” she told him, making triangles and connecting them with ‘strings.’ “I’m making it low-cut so everyone can see your tattoos.”

She looked up at him with a smile but his eyes were firmly on her body, completely entranced by the way his thumbs were rolling over the little peaks on each breast. Not that she could blame him- she didn’t much care about her artwork either as long as he was doing _that_ , and she abandoned her task to place her hands over his, silently asking for more, relishing the shuddery shivery sensations .   

Eventually his hands moved on, and she returned to her artwork though she wasn’t truly interested in it anymore. Instead she drew a heart, right under the third dog of his tattoo, and lay across him to reach it with her mouth.  

“That’s where the heart is,” she purred and kissed him there, sitting up with what was no doubt a white muzzle. He laughed at the whipped cream covering her face, then pulled her down for a sweet kiss, his hands sliding down her thighs and trailing stickiness in his wake. It was such a mess- if they kept going like this they’d be glued together before they could even get started. Or… _really_ started.  

“How you feeling?” he rasped against her lips.

“Kinda gross, actually,” she admitted with a sigh. “Maybe I can… would it be ok if I took a quick shower? Just to rinse off?”

He grimaced- _again_ \- at her request, and she felt- _again_ \- like she was doing everything wrong. But after a moment his expression softened and he waved at the door.

“Bathroom’s in the hallway. Don’t take too long.”

She kissed him quickly then climbed off the bed with as much grace as she could muster seeing as how she was almost completely naked and covered in whipped cream besides. She knew he was watching her- he’d barely taken his eyes off of her since he first tossed her on his bed- and padding across the floor in his view caused another surge of emotions- nervous, yes, and scared and… a little sexy, too. So on some wild impulse, some completely foolhardy desire to gain the upper hand, she stopped at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder.

“You coming?”

She didn’t have to ask twice, could hear him moving to follow her, and she ran like a fool down the hall towards the bathroom. Like _that_ was a good idea- he had her wrapped up tight in a gooey embrace before she could even get to the door.

She let him turn the water on while she stood there with her arms across her chest, watched the muscles in his back ripple just from moving, but when he dropped his hands to his belt she quickly turned away. After she heard his jeans drop noisily to the floor, heard the scrape of the shower curtain as he got in, she finally felt comfortable enough to slip off her panties and follow him into the shower.

Turned out, the scariest thing about the shower wasn’t that he could see her naked. No, she was much more worried about seeing _him_ naked. She tried to keep her face turned demurely upwards, kissed his chest and neck and his mouth whenever she could reach it, but there was no ignoring his arousal. It was just _there,_ pressed against her stomach or back depending on how he held her, but even when they weren’t close it was still bobbing and waving around, smacking against her and making her giggle.

“You’re not supposed to laugh at a man when he’s naked,” he growled out with no real trace of indignation. It made her laugh even more.

The hot water made quick work of the whipped cream and they used only their hands to clean each other. He was way more thorough than she was but still moved quickly, and soon enough he was shutting the water off and handing her a towel.

Leaving the shower was almost as awkward as getting in, especially with the way he cussed out the shower curtain for clinging to his wet legs. Oh god, she could not stop laughing at that, but when he turned steely eyes on her she scurried out of the bathroom, him chasing after her, not even bothering with a towel.

She wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but they wound up on his bed again, bodies pressed together and kissing deeply, pulling each other closer. His skin was damp but felt good under her hands, smooth and almost soft, hot and hard where it stretched taut over muscle. She didn’t explore him the way he explored her, though, since his hand moved freely over her shoulder and side, down her back and over her bottom and continuing down her leg. And it felt nice, really, but when he slid his fingers up the inside of her thighs she clamped a hand over him to make him stop.

“Let me touch you,” he urged, his voice sounding close to breaking _._ She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to touch her there when he would _be_ there soon enough. Or so she thought. But if he really wanted to, if this was how it was supposed to go… she released his hand and rested her own on his shoulder, pressing her lips to his in an effort to distract herself.   

Her body was shivering in anticipation, his hand moving cautiously up her thigh until he reached her, cupping her gently before carefully parting her with his fingers. He was breathing heavily by then- she wasn’t breathing at all- while he slowly but thoroughly explored her, the friction he was creating making her light-headed and eager.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he rumbled appreciatively. She could feel the proof of it- his fingers moved easily through her slick folds, sliding against her firm but gentle, and she was _throbbing,_ gasping for breath against his lips and moaning into his mouth, frightened by what she was feeling but desperate for more. He must have liked it too, judging by the deep growl rumbling in the back of his throat, and when he curled one finger tentatively inside her he groaned in pent-up desire. He was shaking by then, spent by the effort of containing his lust for so long, and she could hardly blame him for that- her own want had become a need, and she was _so_ ready for him.    

He pushed her roughly to her back and lowered his mouth to her breast, licking and biting and sucking hungrily while his fingers continued to work her below, being careful to give her other breast just as much attention. It was even more overwhelming than before, and she writhed and gasped and bucked beneath him, unable to control herself.

And then he was gone. She lifted up enough to see him fumbling with the box of condoms and quickly lay back down, listened to the rip of cardboard then the crinkling of a wrapper.

“Did I get the right kind?” she asked softly, mostly because she felt stupid just lying there, doing nothing but waiting for the inevitable. She’d gotten the largest size available, but what the heck did she know?

“Yeah, you did good,” he huffed a small laugh. “Might not have got enough, though.”

Oh, she definitely got his meaning this time, and as much as she wanted to tease him right back she was just too nervous for any other emotion. She tensed up involuntarily when he fell across her trembling body, pressing a kiss to her mouth and stroking her lightly before planting his arms on either side of her. She let him nudge her legs apart with his knees, let him position himself right _there,_ hoped he took her labored breathing for passion and not panic. But he was not fooled, and looked down at her with apprehension.

“Little bird,” he murmured softly, running a thumb across her eyebrow and down her cheek. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to meet his gaze. “Do you want to stop?”

“Do you?”

“Not even a little.”

She pressed her lips together to hide her laugh. “Me, neither.”

“Are you scared?”

“No,” she said quickly, and then “yes,” because she didn’t want to lie to him. “I’m just… nervous. But I still want to.”

She tentatively rested her hands on the back of his shoulders because she didn’t know where else to put them, and he nodded slowly at her admission though he still seemed concerned. The poor man looked as uneasy as she felt, which was amusing as much as it was comforting, so when he kissed her lightly on the lips she felt some of her fear abate.

Not for long, though. Her entire body flinched violently at his first little stab, and he pulled away quickly to look down at her.

“Are you ok?” he hissed anxiously.

She couldn’t answer, just… couldn’t. Holy hell, that hurt. She’d always heard that there was a _chance_ it could hurt. A _chance_ , that’s what she was told. Never had anyone mentioned the blinding, burning, searing, debilitating pain.    

“Sansa,” he tried again. “Do you want to stop?”

“How far did you get?” she asked, ignoring his question in favor of her own though she was a little afraid of the answer. He reached for her hand and pulled it downwards, showing on him how far he’d gotten- barely an inch. “That’s _it?”_ she all but shrieked, completely horrified.  

She felt like crying, really crying, and bit her lip in a futile effort to stop her tears.

“Sansa… you know it’s supposed to hurt, right?” God, he was being so patient. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for him, to have his appetite ruined by a weepy virgin. He must be so disappointed, must be regretting ever starting this, but she couldn’t help it, it hurt. And yes, she knew it would hurt, but…

“I just didn’t know it would hurt like _this,”_ she explained, tears trickling down her cheeks _._ “Will it always?”

“No,” he said firmly and without hesitation. She believed him. “Do you want to stop?”

For the first time she considered it, _really_ considered it. It hurt, so much more than she ever imagined, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. Why would she voluntarily put herself through that much pain, why would she tell him she wanted this when her body was saying _oh no you don’t?_

But then again… if this was how it was going to happen, if her first time was definitely going to hurt no matter what… then what was the point in waiting? She wanted to sleep with him, she wanted him to be her first, and it was going to hurt whether it happened today, tomorrow, or next week. So…

“Don’t stop,” she whispered with a shake of her head. And he was once again positioning himself _there_ , pushing into her, gradually but persistently burying himself, and she held herself still despite the excruciating feeling of being torn apart. It was almost as strange as it was painful, the feel of another body entering into her own, the way her flesh was parting for him, the drag of him against her skin. Until finally his hips were against hers leaving no doubt that he was fully inside, and for a moment they just held each other, joined as one in the most intimate of ways.

“Sansa,” he sighed into her ear, sounding tired and strained and maybe even a little bit relieved. “Are you alright?” When she didn’t respond right away he looked at her sharply. “Sansa, say something.”

“Ow.”

He pushed up onto his arms so he could really look at her, but she quickly turned her face away, not wanting him to see, not wanting him to know that she _hated_ it. Was it supposed to feel this way? Because it was pretty terrible.

He must have known, though, because he moved to get off of her, and she quickly grabbed his back to hold him in place.

“Don’t stop,” she told him again, looking into his eyes so he’d know she meant it, and he fell back across her to follow her orders.

“It won’t take long, I can promise that,” he grumbled, a little amused, a little apologetic, and she didn’t really understand what he meant but she almost didn’t care. It hurt, he was staying, she was really going through with it, and… she was scared.

He started moving, so _so_ slowly. She knew he was going slow for her, and she was grateful, but even more grateful when he finally relaxed against her, eased into a steady and strong pace, panting heavily against her ear. God, even the way he _breathed_ was sexy, and the sound of it reignited the desire she’d felt before the pain came. Though the pain was definitely still there.

But… it was not so bad. It seemed with every passing second the pain diminished, replaced by something else, not quite desire really, more like want. She liked what he was doing, what _they_ were doing- maybe not in the way _he_ liked it, but she still liked it, liked the feel of it. She could get used to this, even if she could never feel how he did.

“I wish you could feel how I do,” he rasped, just a breath against her ear, and she looked up at him in surprise.

“How do you feel?” she whispered into his neck, because she really wanted to know.

He didn’t respond for a while, just continued to thrust into her, groaning occasionally though she could tell it was in pleasure. She thought maybe he hadn’t heard her or maybe he just wasn’t able to answer, but eventually he turned his mouth towards her.

“Closer to you,” he grunted, increasing his pace and his strength and, by extension, her pain. But she didn’t mind, not really. It was the sweetest thing he could’ve said, just what she needed to hear, and it was almost enough to make her forget the awkwardness and burning discomfort. Almost, but not quite, so she distracted herself in other ways, moving her hands across his back, over his shoulders and down to grip his hips, trying to show him as much affection as he was showing her. After a while she noticed her hips were moving in time with his, rising to meet every advance though she never made the decision to do that. But she didn’t mind that either, because he was right, and she _did_ feel how he felt- she _did_ feel closer to him, and she wanted him to know that.

He must have, judging by the way he shifted to wrap his arms around her, one hooking up around her shoulder, the other sliding in behind her to place a hand at the small of her back. It was better this way, being so completely enveloped in him, even though he was moving faster, his hips rolling into hers with feverish intensity that rekindled the burn.

“Sansa,” he gasped, almost a whimper, and he was pushing harder than before, reaching deeper than before. All at once he stilled, his body rigid but shaking and hips unyielding against hers as he let out a deep, guttural roar. And she could feel it, the throbbing and pulsing, the veritable eruption of his desire as it poured out of his body and into hers. And it hurt! But at the same time, it felt almost good in an unnamable way and she held onto him as tightly as she could, unwilling to let it go, to let _him_ go.

The tension was seeping out of him, she could tell by the way he was slowly relaxing and melting over her though he wisely kept his full weight off of her. His eyes were so glassy and unfocused by the time he looked down at her she almost laughed at him. But then he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her lips… it wasn’t funny, this softness, this sated, languid look he was showing her. It was sweet, and she was oddly proud that she was the one to draw it out of him.

“Alright?” She _was_ alright, and she nodded with a little smile, still too shy to meet his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

With another quick kiss he pulled away from her, leaving her on the bed and heading towards the bathroom. As soon as he was gone she took a deep breath and let it all out, happy she’d done it, but relieved it was over. She pressed both hands down between her legs, trying to soothe the pain burning there, surprised that it still hurt. But she finally regained her senses and decided she really needed to cover up before he returned. Pushing up into a sitting position, remembering how she’d left her panties in the (now-occupied) bathroom, she cast around quickly, looking for something she could use. And that’s when she saw it; even in the dim light she could see it.

Blood. Blood on her hands, blood on her thighs, blood on his bedspread… oh god, it seemed like there was blood _everywhere_. Panic gripped her as she frantically tried to figure out what to do next, grabbing the discarded towel and heading towards his kitchen to clean up. She could _not_ let him see her like this, could _not_ let him know about it at all. Not that she could hide it. It was all over the bed, and surely on him, too, and the thought of it made her want to die of shame.  And sure, it was not as much blood as her mind told her, but it was still far more blood than she would have liked.

After rinsing quickly and awkwardly in the kitchen sink, she wrapped herself in the wet towel, returning to his room just in time to see him toss the ruined bedspread off to the side, dressed only in grey sweatpants. He looked up at her when he realized she was standing in the doorway, and she thought she might burst into flames with the way her face was burning. God almighty, this was a complete disaster. This could not possibly be the night of passion he’d been anticipating.

“I’m sorry,” she said dumbly, because she _was_ sorry, so humiliated she wanted to cry.

“Don’t worry about it,” he grunted nonchalantly. “Never liked that bedspread anyway.”

“No, I mean… I’m sorry… for all of it. I wish… I wish I could have been more… accommodating. That I was more like what you want.” She saw his pointed look of confusion and turned away, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut to stop her tears.

“You _are_ what I want,” he rasped, so sincerely she really did want to cry, because... wow. For a grumpy, mean, horrible, ill-tempered grouch, he sure always said the right things. Even better was that she could tell he meant it- he _always_ meant it- and felt herself relaxing under his gaze.

“Do you have a shirt or something I could wear?” she asked shyly, eyes cast downward.

“Nope.”

And before she could even register what happened she was in his arms again, the towel falling away with a simple tug as he spun her towards the bed. He slid them both under the sheets while she giggled like an idiot, then pulled her against him, her back to his chest in a warm and safe little nest though she was naked as a baby. She wanted to tell him that she’d rather have a t-shirt. She wanted to tell him it was unfair that he got to wear something. But mostly she wanted him to hold her, just like this, for as long as he was willing and longer.  

“Sleep, little bird,” he ordered gently, kissing the back of her head. “You’ve had a long day.”

Truer words had never been spoken; it had been one heck of a day. She felt like she went into it as one person and came out as another one, a better one. Tomorrow would be no different- she had a lot of things that still needed to be done, and it wouldn’t be easy but she was still looking forward to it. Snuggling back into him, his arm draped heavily over her and breath stirring her hair, fingers laced together- she realized the only thing she _wasn’t_ looking forward to was parting with him. It was inevitable, of course- he couldn’t help her with most of her tasks, she needed to do them on her own. But maybe if she asked nicely he’d help her with that 35-count box of condoms.

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue
> 
> Sandor took Sansa home late the next morning.
> 
> She informed her parents that very same day that she wanted to switch majors. They very patiently told her that Art History was a better choice for her and it was only natural to be curious about other subjects but that she needed to stay focused. But after she very patiently told them that her interest was in science and that’s what she wanted to pursue, they relented and told her she could major in anything she wanted as long as she kept her grades up. It was overall easier than she thought it would be and she wondered why she waited so long. 
> 
> She took Jeyne to the Georgia Theater the following Saturday, but this time she dressed in her closest approximation to a 1980s style, frizzy side-ponytail and all. Jeyne surprised her by knowing almost all of the songs. After they’d had their fill of dancing they went out for drinks with Lisa and Donna and the rest of their new group of friends. The experience was bittersweet for Sansa- even though she had a blast with Jeyne, she was mad at herself for neglecting her friend for so long, letting that relationship languish in favor of another. But she pushed those thoughts away and vowed to never let it happen again.
> 
> She never talked to Joffrey after their breakup, though he certainly tried. And she never went back to the Sunset, either. 
> 
> And they used that entire box of condoms in two weeks. Best value for the money indeed.


End file.
